I used to fish with my dad until he said I had to bait my own hook. (I guess he wanted to fish too.) That required picky up a slimy, squirmy worm and piercing it with a hook. I could bear to touch one of the squiggly creatures only IF I was wearing thick, winter gloves, but I could not pierce their wiggling body with the barb and tying them in knots didn’t work either. Creepy crawlies aren’t my thing.
It has become quite obvious that some things are not passed on genetically. My daughters love worms. They scavenge the driveway for them (the half-dead ones that have washed up after a rain). They dig in the dirt for them. When they find an (unlucky) creature, they carry it around, they pet it, they request to take them into the house. <cringe> I don’t even want to think about where I would find the crusted remains. (I’ve heard horror stories about the washing machine.)
I try not to gag at the worm slimes all over their hands or jump away as they dangle the curling creature dangerously close to me. I hold it in because I don’t want to pass on my phobias to them. If they aren’t grossed out by worms, why should they be? It will certainly make fishing and seventh grade biology a lot easier. (Dissecting animals, even worms and clams, has kept me out of anything related to the medical field.)
As long as their new friends stay outside enjoying the home that God created for them, the girls can play with all the worms and caterpillars they want.